


Snow drifts

by Womble1



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, Hands, Pub Quiz, Scottish pubs, Snow, sleepy brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 11:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29592264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Womble1/pseuds/Womble1
Summary: A long day, digging people out of snow is a tireing business. There may be tired brother to deal with.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Snow drifts

It had been all hands on decks digging people and their cars out of drifting snow in the north of scotland. Even John was dragged along since he was down already, which left Grandma and EOS on mission control. It had turned out to be a blessing, since John was the only one making decent headway with the strong accents. 

At one point they needed to dig out a whole pub load of people who had been trapped for 4 hours, although everyone inside was having a high old time of it. Apparently they were working on the theory that the alcohol would go off if they didn't finish it. Virgil managed to clear a narrow track down to a small back window and they decided to send John in to work out the situation inside whilst a larger path was cleared at the front to let everyone out. Even with the additional cold weather layers John was able to gracefully slide down to the narrow window and contort himself until he could wriggle through and into what turned out to be a cleaning cupboard. 

“Come out on a rescue they said, it’ll be exciting they said…” he grumbled under his breath as he stumbled over a mop bucket and caught himself against a broom. The sound of a small snow slide outside the window made it clear that John wouldn't be getting back out that way. It didn't get any better as he clattered his way out of the cupboard to be met with the sight of 30 plus heavily intoxicated scots. They in their turn were completely unfazed by International Rescues dramatic entrance and responded by starting a round of applause and cheering as John took out the mop bucket that was still trying to make its presence known and he himself made speedy contact with the carpet with a loud clatter. 

Righting himself, he cleared his throat and tried to reassemble his professional facade “Everybody remain calm, I’m with international rescue and my colleagues are just working to clear a way for everyone to get out. Does anyone require medical assistance?”

“Ah, Dinna fash yersel, we’re all fine lad, sit yersel doon! Canne someone get the laddie a wee dram he's awful Peely-wally*." So it was that, even as John was sending a message to mission control to let them know that there were no injuries, he was herded towards an armchair by the fire and plied with whiskey. He had to admit that it was a step up on the last location, where he had been sat with 25 tearful preschool children trying to get them to stay calm and being forced to sing Peppa Pig songs whilst Virgil cleared the exit route. It was turning out to be a very long day indeed. 

The age of the building meant Virgil was being cautious in his use of machinery, but eventually he cleared the way to the main doors to allow for the patrons of the pub to exit safely. A quick once over from Virgil in Two and they were all handed over to the local authorities to get them home safe, although not before a certain amount of alcohol was regurgitated in the med bay, much to Virgil's disgust. 

Like the parents at an unplanned house party, the brothers were left staring bleary eyed at the devastation left in the wake of 30 pickled pub regulars. The worst of the mess was cleared and the remainder declared a job for industrial cleaning equipment back at base.

“Right, I don't know about you guys, but I am more than ready to not be here anymore.” declared Gordon looking round at his brothers 

"It's been a long one, why don't you and John crash on the fold down bunks for the return journey” Virgil said looking at Alan. The mere mention of rest was enough to have both astronauts straightening their spines and proclaiming how they were not tried at all. Virgil caught Gordons eye gesturing to Alan, the message was clear, you take Alan, I’ll take John, divide and conquer. 

Virgil gently steered John's long frame towards what was essentially a service corridor, but Brains had had the foresight to include a few fold down bunks. It was little more than metal frames with canvas stretched across, but plenty welcoming enough when the only other option was an overly fragrant med bay.

"John, Alan looks wiped out, but I don't think he'll admit defeat on his own. Do you think you could stay with him, bore him to death talking space or something. I don't want him falling asleep up front, I don't think Gordon would be able to resist the urge to colour his eyebrows in with a marker pen, you know what he gets like when he's tired." 

John got the vague feeling he was being played, but a really long day coupled with the freehand measures of whiskey earlier were numbing his ability to care. He gave a small, put upon sigh and nodded his agreement. 

"Thanks John," Virgil beamed, as he grabbed him by the elbows and all but launched his space case sibling onto the top bunk and tossed a blanket up to join him. “You might as well be comfortable” 

Gordon had draped an arm over Alans shoulder and led him on a slight promenade, supposedly to grab a bottle of water. He knew there was no point forcing the matter, but that didn't mean he had given up, Virgil wasn't the only one who could corral stubborn siblings.

“Hey Al, it looks like Virgils managed to get Johnny boy to lie down, any chance you could keep an eye on him, don't want him forgetting the gravity when he wakes up. You know how grumpy Virgil will get if John dents the paintwork with his face again. If you keep an eye on him, I’ll go and wrangle Virg, the guys running on fumes, honestly you've got the easy job with the sleepy spaceman.” Gordon thought perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick by that point, but Alan seemed to buy it and flopped down, only slightly sulkily, on the bottom bunk where Virgil had already left a blanket.

“Fine! But only to shut you up.”

“Deal!” Gordon gave him a small salute as he pulled the door to behind him, leaving the narrow space only dimly lit by what little light that could sneak around the edge of the slightly ajar door. 

Alan had to admit it was strangely peaceful, the rumbling of the engines droning on in the background like a mechanical heartbeat. It had obviously worked its magic on John already, Alan could hear the change in his breathing. A few minutes later John shuffled in his sleep and a hand flopped over the edge of the bunk, swaying gently to the rhythm of the engines. The door crept open a fraction more as they changed altitude, casting a slither of light across Johns palm. Alan found himself mesmerised by the swinging hand crossing his eyeline. The high contrast lighting made every detail stand out. He was so used to seeing John through the blue tint of the holoprojector that it seemed weird to see him not floating and without gloves. He really was pale, and there were a small smattering of pale freckles on the back of his knuckles, the sort that would pop up given 5 minutes in the sun, but barely visible the rest of the time. The stretching shadows accentuated the long elegant fingers, anyone would assume the island's piano was Johns, the lost potential probably annoyed the hell out of Virgil, who would love to share his interest with any of them. Alan smiled as he remembered how long Virgil's enthusiasm had lasted when Gordon briefly tried to learn the ukulele, ok, maybe that had cured him of wanting to share his musical interest. 

John's hand continued to move in time with the engines, but other than that they were strangely still. These hands shouldn't be still, it was eerie, these were hands that could dissect the digital world. Hands that were rarely still but never erratic, every move as precise and intentional as a surgeon's scalpel. Still his hand swung gently over the edge of the bunk, coaxing Alan's eyelids lower with each repeat revolution, gently, ever so gently, until a second set of snores added their melody to Thunderbird Twos baseline. 

Back in the cockpit a quick fist bump between the remaining awake rescue operatives confirmed their missions a success.

“Ooh hang on, we missed one!” Gordon cried, slamming his hand onto the dashboard to punctuate the statement.

Virgil flicked a switch “Thunderbird two to Tracy Island, Grandma are you there?” 

“Right here dearie, what can I do for you?” came grandmas dulcet tones across the airwaves

“Just letting you know the birds are coming in to roost, can you catch the night owl when he hits down?” Virgil replied.

“Will do honey, you guys fly safe” 

“Oh, and Grandma, remember to swap the coffee out for decaf!” he added

“Don't you worry, I’m not getting caught out by that one again!” she replied with a cackle.

Right, that was another one ticked off the list. One more celebratory fist bump in the cockpit. Virgil looked sideways at his copilot, three down, one to go.

“Mind if I put some music on Gordon?”

“ Course not, just please not the jazz” he said stretching and settling back into his seat. 

“Deal” Virgil pulled up a playlist that had proved successful in the past, set it on shuffle and waited. Three tracks was all it took, a new record, before Gordon was slumped in the chair examining the insides of his eyelids. He turned the music off before he suffered the same fate and started mentally listing mechanical components in alphabetical order to keep himself awake, it really had been a long day. Some time later he received an image file through from Grandma, it was a candid shot of Scott sprawled on the sofa apparently dead to the world, a blanket tucked neatly into his sides. Full house, he smiled to himself, and focused on the final descent.

A few months later Alan was up on Five helping John patch in a few upgrades, when a weird garbled message started coming through on a direct line. Alan was puzzled and called through to John, hoping he would be able to make sense of it.

“What? Oh, I’d lost track of the time in that hemisphere.” said John as he heard the transmission

“Heh, Jimmy, how’d you ken if this is workin’ Can ye gie's a haund?” the mismatched selection of vowel sounds continued down the line. 

“What is it?” asked Alan, his face screwed up in puzzlement 

“Its Thursday night, quiz night at the Bulls Inn, I kind of got drafted in when we dug them them out, we’re on a winning streak at the moment, you might as well take a break” and with no further introduction Alan was left to watch as his brother decimated the quiz via video call, well at least until the sports round. The weekly pub quiz was clearly a serious business at the Bulls Inn, and it was clear that John had most definitely been adopted by the locals. After the quiz they proceeded to update John on all the local gossip, whether he wanted to hear about Ginny's new grandchild was unclear, but he was going to be told all the same.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a blatant example of thinking up one scene and having to reverse engineer the rest to just get to it. Pure self indulgence - sorry, not sorry.
> 
> Trying to get my head around the rescue writing, rather than just sticking to the domestic dramas. 
> 
> Also getting a bit more milage out of describing hands. 
> 
> *Peely-wally = pale and sickly


End file.
